Loyal readers may remember that when I first started this blog a little over two years ago (congratulations to Jed for being the longest non-obvious commenter) I was having a few lifestyle problems. Depression, I think they call it. Suffice to say that I can sense the black dog padding around outside the door whining to come in. I'm not going to stuff my neck with prozac and cross my fingers but it has got to a point that most people who have been through similar will recognise. You know you have to do something decisive but you can't think of one single positive outcome from your actions whatsoever. Every consequence seems disastrous and with that, fear gradually creeps in. Sleep becomes difficult; your heart thumps fearfully hard and you wake up in cold sweats if you do eventually get to sleep. Trepidation and doubt cloud everything, even the trivial and those things I usually enjoy doing like picking up the phone and I know full well it shouldn't, especially when in certain respects, I also know full well that there have been a lot of positives to build on over the last few months. In more ways than one, I'm in a place, both metaphorically and physically, where I really don't want to be. I'm hoping that writing this short piece will in some way prove mildly cathartic and kickstart me into making some kind of choice from which I can take something positive.
I'll stick my head in on the usual suspects but don't expect anything here for a bit.